the insurance
premium that assured her of a decent burial; though he denied it hotly
if charged with it. So when Rudie announced that he would like to pull
the pedler's whiskers, it was taken as a motion that he be removed to
the reporters' quarters and made comfortable there, and the motion
was carried unanimously. Was it not Christmas Eve?

Little Abe was carried across Mulberry Street, sleeping soundly, and
laid upon Rudie's cot. The dogs, Chief and Trilby, that run things in
Mulberry Street when the boys are away, snuggled down by him to keep
him warm, taking him at once under their protection. The father took
off his shoes, and curling up by the stove, slept, tired out, but not
until he had briefly told the boys the story he had once that evening
gone over with the policeman. They heard it in silence, but one or two
made notes which, could he have seen them, would have spoiled one
Hester Street landlord's Christmas. When the pedler was asleep, they
took them across the street and consulted with the inspector about it.

Father and son slept soundly yet when, the morning papers having gone
to press, the boys came down into the office with the night-gang of
reporters to spend the dog-watch, according to their wont, in a game
of ungodly poker. They were flush, for it had been pay-day in the
afternoon, and under the reckless impulse of the holiday the jack-pot,
ordinarily modest enough for cause, grew to unheard-of proportions. It
contained nearly fifteen dollars when Rudie opened it at last. Amid
breathless silence, he then and there made the only public speech of
his life.

"The pot," he said, "goes to the sheeny and his kid for their
Christmas, or my name is mud."

Wild applause followed the speech. It awakened the pedler and little
Abe. They sat up and rubbed their eyes, while Chief and Trilby barked
their welcome. The morning was struggling through the windows. The
snow had ceased falling and the sky was clear.

"Mornin'," said Rudie, with mock deference, "will yer worships have
yer breakfast now, or will ye wait till ye get it?"

The pedler looked about him in bewilderment. "I hab kein blam' cent,"
he said, feeling hopelessly in his pockets.

A joyous yell greeted him. "Ikey has more nor you," shouted the boys,
showing the quarter which little Abe had held fast to in his sleep.
"And see this."

They swept the jack-pot into his lap, handfuls of shining silver. The
pedler blinked at the sight.

"Good mor